Another Ultra Short Story

These really are kind of fun to do.  They don't take very long either.

The breath caught in my throat as the pines gave way and I got a good look down into the valley.  The setting sun had colored the canyon walls a brilliant red, and far below I could hear the river churning through fearsome rapids.  I hadn't been sure if I had the time to take this hike out here, but the solitude and the beauty was incredible.

Music started blaring from my pocket.  I answered the phone and walked away.

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A Funny Little Story

I was taking a look through my old stuff, and I found this old homework assignment.  It's a little weird.

“I say, my good chap, my top hat is far superior to yours,” I addressed my colleague as we strolled through the park on our way to afternoon tea and crumpets.

          

“Dear sir, you are most incorrect,” Lord Haberdashery scoffed.  “Not only is my top hat taller and wider, but my monocle simply compliments the hat better than yours does.  You see, my monocle and top hat were designed alongside each other, they simply work together.”

           

“That may be true, but you see, my monocle has been in my family for 500 years now, and as for my top hat, it is an original.”

           

“An original top hat?”  Lord Haberdashery sputtered.  “Lord Baldersdash, you are surely in jest.”

          

 “In fact, I am not, for this top hat was created by the inventor of top hats himself, the Earl of London, Reginald Brimble.  I’ll have you know that this hat is over one thousand years old.  It has seen the rise and fall of empires, it has seen the world.  To be honest, Lord Haberdashery, to compare this hat to yours would be an insult to the British Empire and her people,” I said.

           

“Sir, you are a liar and a cheat,” Lord Haberdashery sneered.  “A second-rate nobleman trying to pass off a completely average top hat as something special.  Sir, I will not have it.”

           

“I say, good chap, that is poor form indeed,” a voice came from above my head.

           

“What was that?” Haberdashery asked.

           

“It would be the hat,” the hat said.  “I must say, you have hardly shown behavior worthy of a British gentleman.  Accusing a fellow man of lying about his top hat is questionable, sir, very questionable.  Perhaps your jealousy stems from the fact that Lord Balderdash here is from a very old family, while your own family only recently attained noble rank.”

           
Lord Haberdashery looked ashamed.  “Lord Baldersdash, you possess a wise and noble hat.  I defer to it and to you.  Shall we continue our walk?
         
“Indeed,” I said.   “Let us not speak of it again.”

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A Trip to the Doctor

A story inspired by a news article which can be found here.

“Doctor, doctor, give me the news!” Mr. Ferguson exclaimed as I walked into the room.

           

“The news, Mr. Ferguson, is that you have a rash in your mouth,” I said.  “Nothing more.”

           

“That’s impossible.” Mr. Ferguson looked crestfallen.  “I’m a biologist, and I know when something is a rash, and when something is a parasitic worm burrowing through my face.”

          

 “Do you know how rare the condition you’re talking about is?” I asked.  I hoped he didn’t actually know, because I didn’t.  I’m an oral surgeon, I get paid $300,000 a year to fix teeth, not to keep up with the field of parasitic worms.  I’m too busy playing croquet on weekends, or comparing 401k’s at the lodge.  Even worms sounds more exciting then my life right now.

          

 “Very rare, I imagine,” he replied.  “But not impossible.”

          

 He was still angling for this worm thing.  “I’m sorry, but all of the evidence points towards a simple rash.”

          

 “But it isn’t a rash!”

           

I was getting tired of this.  My head was throbbing from a massive hangover, I really just wanted to get out of there.  I would have loved to hop in my car and drive away from it all, but I knew I wouldn’t.  I’d just go back home, back to the same old wife, and the same old family, and the same old whiskey to get to bed at night.  “I’m telling you, you’ll be fine in a couple of weeks.  It will clear up.”

           

“But I was so sure…” Mr. Ferguson trailed off.

           

“It would have certainly been a fascinating case,” I threw the man a bone.  “You probably could have gotten a paper out of it.  But the truth is usually much more mundane.  Life is boring sometimes.”

          

 “Thank you for your time, Doctor,” he said.

          

 I trudged out of the room and sighed.  I could see a road sign from a window.  Las Vegas, 500 miles.  I shook my head and walk to the next patient’s room.  Life is boring sometimes.